


You're How Old?!

by Adventures_in_Writing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Caboose, Mentions of Donut - Freeform, Mentions of Junior, Tuckington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2646317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adventures_in_Writing/pseuds/Adventures_in_Writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker blinked, surprised that out of all the things Wash could be yelling at, he’s yelling about Tucker’s age?</p>
<p>“Yeah. How fucking old did you think I was?”</p>
<p>“But…but…” Wash’s voice was even doing that funny pitch-change. He really, truly could hardly believe it.</p>
<p>"You thought I was around your age, didn’t you?” Tucker’s voice was smug.</p>
<p>“I knew you weren’t my age but I thought Caboose was the youngest…then maybe Donut.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're How Old?!

**Author's Note:**

> I got this little idea in my head that Tucker is actually the youngest member on Blue team, though everyone just assumes it is Caboose.
> 
> And then I thought about Wash's reaction to him finding out that Tucker is how old?!
> 
> This is the result.

Once a year, Tucker would bake a cake with Caboose’s help. He would decorate it with whatever Grif had cared to share with him (usually rainbow sprinkles) and Donut would let him use one of the smallest candles he had. If Doc was around, he’d help with the baking too. Wash found the whole ritual a little odd. There were never any gifts and it never seemed to be a celebration for anyone on either of the teams.   
  
Although Washington was rather bad at emotional things, he could read the expressions on everyone’s faces to know that perhaps he had best not ask about it.   
  
Wash stepped out of his room, rubbing at his damp hair with a towel. He had just gotten out of the shower, relishing the feeling of being clean.  
  
“Happy birthday to you…”  
  
The voice was soft and difficult to hear, so it obviously wasn’t being sung for him.  
  
“Happy birthday to you…”  
  
Wash’s brow furrowed. He had thought he was the only one in the base.  
  
“Happy birthday, dear Junior…happy birthday to you.”  
  
Wash entered the kitchen to find Tucker leaning on the bench, watching as the candle in the middle of the cake burned.   
“Tucker?”  
  
Tucker abruptly stood. “Wash,” he tried to wipe at his eyes inconspicuously. “What’s up?”  
  
Tucker was acting strange. Although Wash hadn’t commented on it, Tucker’s eyes were particularly bright with unshed tears.   
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. His voice was warm; very different to the usual way he said that sentence when it was dripping with sarcasm.  
  
Tucker didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he took a moment to close his eyes — seemingly to make a wish — before blowing out the candle.  
“You know about Junior, right?”   
  
“The alien you gave birth to?”   
  
Tucker nodded. “Today is his birthday.”   
  
Wash was suddenly very, very uncomfortable. “I see…”   
  
“So, I make a cake for him every year. One day he’ll actually be around to eat it.”    
  
“How…” Wash wasn’t sure if he wanted to broach the subject. Junior was obviously a touchy subject for Tucker, but the ex-freelancer _was_ curious.    
  
“I’ve just gotta find the little rascal.”   
  
Wash released a breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, suddenly glad to hear that Tucker’s child was alive. Present tense. That was good.  
“How old is he?” In his mind, Wash was taking a quick guess. Tucker had been in the army for a while. If Tucker had Junior when he was thirty, then the alien would be around three years old.   
  
“He’s seven this year,” Tucker said with a bright smile.   
  
Wash nodded before he looked at Tucker in confusion. “Seven?”   
  
“Yeah. They grow up so fast,” he sighed. “I remember it like it happened yesterday.”   
  
Wash did some calculations in his head and he couldn’t figure it out. There was no way that Tucker was thirty-seven. Wash peered at Tucker closely. Now that he was really looking, past the faint lines at the corner of his eyes from his wide and often used grin, the dark skinned man before him couldn’t be older than his early thirties. Washington’s eyes narrowed as he formed a thought.   
“How old were you when you had him?”   
  
Tucker bit his lip as he thought and counted backwards.  
“I had him when I was twenty-two.”  
  
Wash counted.  
  
Wash went to say something, closed his mouth and counted again.  
  
He held up a hand as he counted a third time, even using his fingers to help with the numbers.  
  
“Twenty-two,” he said evenly.   
  
Tucker took a precautionary step backwards. He was familiar with the tone that Washington was using and what was going to follow.  
  
“Uh…yeah…I’d just turned twenty-two. What can I say? Definitely drilled home the idea of having protected sex in the future. Not that that’s how Junior came about. I’m just saying I am not going through that shit again, Jesus fucking Christ.”  
  
Wash took a breath. “You’re telling me…that you’re only TWENTY-NINE YEARS OLD?!”  
  
Tucker blinked, surprised that out of all the things Wash could be yelling at, he’s yelling about Tucker’s age?   
  
“Yeah. How fucking old did you think I was?”    
  
Wash spluttered. “Twenty-nine!? TWENTY-NINE?!” He repeated.  
  
“Twenty-nine,” Tucker reaffirmed for him, “In case you’re still having problems understanding.”  
  
“But…but…” Wash’s voice was even doing that funny pitch-change. He really, truly could hardly believe it.  
  
“You thought I was around your age, didn’t you?” Tucker’s voice was smug.  
  
“I knew you weren’t my age but I thought Caboose was the youngest…then maybe Donut.”   
  
Tucker laughed. “Everyone does.”   
  
“Twenty-nine…” he muttered as he took a seat. Tucker was around ten years younger than him. Fuck. Somehow that made their relationship seem a little…odd.   
  
Tucker gave Wash all the time he wanted to process this information. He didn’t think it was so bad. He didn’t care how old any of them were. He sliced a piece of cake and set it onto a plate and handed it to Washington.   
  
“I can see why you’d be worried though. That’s like a twelve year gap or something…Pops.” Tucker made a face. “I am never calling you that again. It just makes the fact that we bang really weird.”  
  
Tucker being so young explained almost everything about him perfectly: the way he whined when he was working out, the bouts of laziness he was prone to, his immaturity, his constant habit of making sexual innuendos, his frustrations and needs…  
Washington sighed heavily.   
  
“Everything makes so much more sense now. It makes so much frightening sense. And please don’t ever call me ‘Pops’ again.”  
  
“Promise.” Tucker grinned and chomped down on a piece of cake.  
Wash looked up to him with a confused expression.  
  
“Twenty nine?”  
  
Tucker just laughed.


End file.
